


Definition of Self

by MarvelousMenagerie (HiddenOne)



Series: 2019 WinterIron Bingo [6]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), M/M, Mind Control, Not Anti-Steve, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Wanda Friendly, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Winter Soldier is his own person, gaslighting?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-10-18 12:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20639288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenOne/pseuds/MarvelousMenagerie
Summary: “I am Bucky.” The phrase feels like any other phrase from his mouth. There is no weight to the statement, no assurance ringing deep within him that it’s true. ‘I am the Asset,’ has more meaning to him than the name ‘Bucky Barnes.’“I am th - Bucky,” he says, the change coming out of his mouth without permission. “I am th-” e Asset, “Bucky. I am Bucky.”The trigger words are gone, but now there is something in their place - something that only lets him speak as Bucky.And he is not Bucky Barnes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [【翻譯】自定義](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21544564) by [SeijiShun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeijiShun/pseuds/SeijiShun)

> Whew, this one has been a labor of love for a long time now, so here we go. I'm not nervous at all...
> 
> Many thanks to wecollectnightmares (here on tumblr) for helping me brainstorm this fic into being. Thanks to CinnamonAnemone and others on the winteriron discord who helped beta & cheer this thing on.

“Ain’t like it used to be is it?” Steve asks. 

Steve gives him that look, one he recognizes from his superiors at Hydra. An answer is expected of him. With Steve, a specific answer is expected of him - a test. He searches through the memories, trying to recall an interaction that Steve had with him previously that would help him now. 

He opens his mouth, and his eyes go wide in surprise. He’s not ready yet. He doesn’t know what to say. He hadn’t meant to start speaking.

“That’s a good thing,” he says, his mouth tingling as he speaks.

Steve chuckles and claps him on the shoulder. 

“You always did like the future,” Steve comments before steering him into the Compound. 

He blinks in surprise. He still takes in the Compound - identifying possible exit routes and sniper spots - but he thinks back to that exchange as Steve turns to Sam for conversation. 

‘That’s a good thing,’ he’d said, the correct response, but he’d said it without meaning to. The memory is there now, at the forefront, and it sounds like something Bucky Barnes would say.

He did say it. 

He keeps his mouth shut. He watches. 

He waits. 

They settle into the Compound. For the rest of them, they are re-settling into the place they used to call home. Lang and Barton had taken the deals offered so they could spend their time with their families under some kind of house arrest, and so that just leaves him adrift in the Compound that everyone else has lived in for years. 

Steve shows him the bedroom - more of an assortment of rooms, really, with a kitchenette and its own bathroom - that is bigger than his last two apartments combined. He admits the bolthole in Lithuania had been tiny, but the apartment in Romania had been spacious. He has never had this much space, not that he remembers.

Steve leaves him to look around, and he paces the interior. 

There are no cameras. 

He knocks over the decorative vase, pretending it’s an accident, but no alarms are tripped. No one comes running. He sweeps up most of the mess, but leaves a few of the smaller shards. He will monitor the remaining mess to determine if others are entering and cleaning - or canvassing - the place while he is away.

He is caged here. It’s a beautiful, spacious cage, but still a cage. There is no doubt of that. He is not allowed to leave the grounds of the Compound without approved government escort. He had complied with the rest of the team, falling under Steve’s leadership and signing the contract that allowed them access back into the States and back into the Compound. He had signed as James Barnes, taking care to loop the letters so they matched the signature in his memory.

“Settling in okay?” Steve asks when he comes around again, leaning in the doorway. 

He looks around the room and nods. 

This is the nicest cage that he’s had for decades, and he’s grateful for it. 

Steve won’t leave him alone, will never leave him behind. He remembers that much, now. Steve is happier here, being back in Steve’s home rather than Wakanda, and he doesn’t need much for himself. This is more than enough. 

“You want to push some couch cushions together and have a sleepover?” he asks, the words slipping out of his mouth. There’s a heat in his mouth, warming his teeth and tongue, that he’s not used to. He clicks his jaw shut and swallows. 

Steve grins, and he settles to see it. Does it matter where these words come from, if they help Steve? The Bucky of Steve’s memory must still live on somewhere inside him if he still says these things, right? The journals had helped him keep track of the memories, of all the variations and changes that happened in his dreams, but reading the memories of the past didn’t let him know what to say in today’s conversations. 

Reading about Bucky Barnes hadn’t helped him act like Bucky Barnes, at least not until today. Maybe that’s changing now that he and Steve are together and no longer on the run. 

Steve turns down the offer of a sleepover with a soft smile, citing that he wants to make sure Bucky lost his habit of snoring. 

He doesn’t know if Bucky Barnes ever snored. He doesn’t have the memory to confirm either way. He does know that he doesn’t snore now, but he doesn’t tell Steve this. 

He is glad to have a night alone. 

He waits and watches, pretending to be asleep but wishing to know if an attack would come. 

Tony Stark may have gotten the deal to bring the rest of the team back. Tony Stark may have shaken his hand and said it’s all in the past. Tony Stark may have welcomed him and the rest back into the Compound with a sharp smile and open arms. 

But he does not rest, not completely. He would not blame Tony Stark for setting a trap for him. For wanting to hurt him, wanting to kill him. It’s something that he can understand.

He killed Tony’s parents. 

The attack doesn’t come. In the early light of dawn, his light doze slips into deeper sleep. 

He dreams of Bucky and Bucky’s memories. Like a movie reel coated in a red haze, moments and conversations and thoughts stream through his mind. He is watching the person he used to be. He can feel it, almost, this Bucky who settled an arm over Steve until it was Steve standing over Bucky. 

He wakes in the morning with a jolt. The room is quiet and at peace. No threat detected. 

“Bucky,” he whispers to himself, trying out the name. “I am Bucky.”

The phrase feels like any other phrase from his mouth. There is no weight to the statement, no assurance ringing deep within him that it’s true. He’d said the words before, after the museum, and they feel the same now as then. ‘I am the Asset,’ had more meaning to him than the name ‘Bucky Barnes.’

“I am th - Bucky,” he says, the change coming out of his mouth without permission. 

He tries again. 

“I am th-” _e Asset_, “Bucky. I am Bucky.”

He tips his head back and breathes. 

The Wakandan scientists had removed the trigger words from his memory. He should no longer be the Fist of Hydra, but did they put something else in its place to remake him into Bucky Barnes? Shuri hadn’t said, and she’d been so excited to tell him everything about the procedure, but maybe he had missed something. 

Maybe they hadn’t told him.

He had been too trusting to let someone else play around in his mind again. 

_I am the Asset_, he thinks to himself. At least his mind is still his own. 

For now. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fill for the Winteriron Bingo square : arm maintenance

He keeps quiet at breakfast, though when he speaks the correct Bucky Barnes phrases drop from his mouth. He swallows the sparks they make as he forms the words.

Steve smiles, and he wonders if this is not so terrible. If he’s slowly morphing into Bucky Barnes, isn’t that for the best? Can’t he just let it happen? He sees Wilson’s face twitch and the blank look from Black Widow, and he thinks he is not fooling everyone. The witch smiles into her cereal while the android next to her completes the crossword. 

Tony Stark is not at breakfast, and he wonders if that means something. 

He catches a flat, circular robot skating across the floor in his room, heading for the corner where the bits of the vase that he knocked over still resided. He snags it from the floor, a knife in one hand as he flips it over. The wheels spin uselessly as he pries the casing off. 

No weapon inside. No audio or visual recording devices either. There are sensors for detection and a receptacle for waste that is already half-full of dust and hair and crumbs. 

He frowns but puts the casing back on, checking to make sure that it is secure and that there are no marks from his tampering. He sets the robot back down on the floor and watches as it spins around until it heads for the corner and sucks up the bits of vase. It bumps into the wall, spins, then heads off in a new direction. 

He watches it traverse across his room, cleaning the floor as it goes, and then exit. 

Days pass slower in the Compound. He has meals with the team but he is not yet ready to train with them. Steve agrees with him, though Steve will stare from across the gym if they end up there at the same time. He reads - switching from the news to internet forums to the paperbacks that Vision leaves behind on end tables. 

“It’s not entirely logical, but the weight of the book and the touch of paper adds something to the experience. Do you agree?” Vision asks one day. 

He has been caught, forgetting for an instant that Vision can phase through walls and therefore he needs to watch all sides, not just the exits. 

He nods. 

“Electronic versions are certainly acceptable,” Vision continues, “but I admit to the preference of the physical copy. You are certainly welcome to acquire your own, or I am happy to continue recommending. Do you have a preferred genre?”

“Sci-fi,” he states with more confidence than he feels. “Couldn’t draw like Stevie, so took to reading while he was drawin’ when he was laid up sick.”

He swallows. He does still enjoy science fiction, that much is true. Sometimes, though, he likes the happy endings at the end of romance books. He also likes reading thrillers because in a twisted way they make him feel less alone - there are other monsters that people fear, not just him. When he feels especially brave, he picks up a history book and sees if he can find himself in the pages. Finding out if his memories match up with what was written.

He says none of that, though. Bucky Barnes enjoyed science fiction and little else. 

“I find it interesting how much of the human experience can be found in the pages of fiction,” Vision comments. 

He keeps his mouth shut. He nods. 

Vision starts leaving more science fiction novels around the Compound.

He says nothing. 

Sam Wilson tries to get him to talk. Wilson goes through topics of books and sports and news and past times and present day and food and locations. Wilson tries and keeps trying, but whether Steve is there or not the right answers don’t come out of him. Well, Bucky Barnes’ answers come out of him. _His_ answers stay stuck in his brain and won’t come out of his mouth. 

Wilson keeps trying with an impressive amount of patience, but he can’t match it. His frustration over not knowing what he is going to say or not saying what he means has him clenching his jaw and keeping his mouth shut. 

Black Widow tries next, staying quiet and showing him how to water her plants. They perform the work together, a companionable if not entirely easy silence. It eases his frustration but doesn’t entirely erase it. 

He keeps thinking of Romania. He had been on the run, always looking over his shoulder, but there had been a peace there that he no longer has. He had had the trigger words, but he had successfully stayed several steps ahead of anyone who had known them. He could talk to the vendors at the market and ask for what he wanted. He could say what he meant, what he thought. 

With the trigger words, he couldn’t trust his own mind. Now, with those gone, he can trust his mind again. 

But he can’t trust his voice. 

_I am the Asset, _he thinks to himself. As long as he can think that phrase, then Bucky Barnes has not taken over completely. He can’t say the words, but he can think them. He can keep them buried inside himself. 

He writes it down. 

_I am the Asset_.

Tony Stark has little to do with the rest of the Avengers. He doesn’t show up for team meals. He doesn’t run drills with the team. It’s James Rhodes, with braces on his legs, who suits up in armor to join the Avengers. Depending on who is talking, Stark is either holding a grudge, being a brat, or too busy putting out political fires to suit up himself anymore.

The man looks tired enough that he thinks that last one is definitely a factor.

Stark does, however, make time to look at his arm. He is grateful and yet guilty. 

Shuri had gifted him a new left arm, the black and gold being a welcome change from Hydra’s silver and red. It had functioned well with the response time and sensations improved, but he had picked up a twitch. Sometimes his fingers curled, undirected and uncontrolled. He had dented counters and broken mugs and bruised his own skin. 

If he had been holding weapons, it could have meant a more explosive mistake. 

Shuri could not walk him through the repair himself. He needed a more capable set of hands than his own, and Shuri had contacted Stark without hesitation. 

Stark had agreed and set up an appointment.

He enters the workshop. 

Little conversation is required from him. Stark talks, asking questions but then answering them. Stark repeats the information that Shuri had mentioned, adding bits of commentary but nothing much. He gets by with a nod or shake of the head, and Stark gets to work. 

He watches, wondering if Stark will take advantage of his vulnerability. If this all has been a trap from the beginning. A long con. 

He doesn’t care if it is, not anymore. He wishes the trap would just spring. 

Stark video calls Shuri and has her check over his work. 

“It’s not too bad of a job for a colonizer.”

Stark laughs.

“Invite me to Wakanda and show me how it’s done,” Stark replies. 

The princess banters back and then signs off. Stark pushes his chair away and stands, hands cracking his back. 

“You good? Everything feeling alright?” Stark asks as he twists. “No twitches or delayed responses? I know the Princess said everything looks fine, but well, you’re the expert.”

Stark’s voice is polite, friendly. He gives the impression that he has all the time in the world to fix this problem, though that can’t be the case. He has helped his parents’ murderer in so many ways now. 

He wants to say yes, everything is fine. 

He wants to say thank you. 

He wants to say I’m sorry. 

He says none of that. 

“How do you live with yourself?” He asks. 

Stark freezes, his eyes going wide. 

He’s surprised too, and the next bit slips through. “How can you call yourself a hero with all those bombs, all those guns, all that war? You judge the rest of us, but we are nothing compared to you. How do you look at yourself and see anything but blood?”

He can’t shut his mouth. He has no control. He slaps his hand, his metal hand, over his mouth to stop the words from pouring out as he races for the door. 

He feels Stark’s heavy stare on his back. 

He hates Bucky Barnes. He would break his own jaw to silence Bucky but he knows he would heal too soon. He focuses on keeping his lips clamped shut. He barely opens his mouth to eat. 

He says nothing. 

Wilson tries. Natasha frowns. Steve slumps, heartbroken, when he refuses to let Bucky say the required lines. 

Instead, he writes. 

_I am the Asset_, and he can breathe again. _I am the Asset_, and his mind is still his own. _I am the Asset_, and he is not Bucky Barnes. 

He writes all the things he can’t say. He writes about how he hates the dumb Brooklyn accent he sometimes slips into. He writes about how he misses the way the Russian words felt in his mouth. He writes about how he hates that only Bucky can make Steve smile. He writes about how he can’t have a conversation with Vision about a book or Sam about the baseball game because Bucky Barnes is there, speaking over him. He writes about wishing he could choke Bucky until Bucky was truly dead and he could move on. 

The dreams get worse. Drenched in red, he relives the memories and moments of his life when he was Bucky. Bucky with his mother. Bucky with his sister. Bucky working on the docks or scavenging for food or boxing in the ring. Most nights, though, Bucky is with Steve. Back alley fights and double dates and dumpster diving and sleepovers and strategy sessions and campfires and taking cover under fire. 

In the morning, he writes down the memories. He gets them out of his head and onto paper, sketching out every detail he can remember. Smells and facial expression and dialogue, it all goes down on the paper. 

Then he burns the paper. He torches Bucky’s memories with a lighter, holding the paper on fire in his metal arm and letting himself feel the heat. He cups the ash in his palm and then tosses the remnants out the window. 

He keeps his own writing. He keeps his own thoughts, his own memories. 

He erases Bucky’s and throws them to the wind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Winteriron bingo square: writer

He thinks he is safe with only the witch and Vision in the kitchen as they rarely attempt to converse with him, but then Steve walks in. Steve greets him, but he clamps his mouth shut rather than return the greeting. He will not let Bucky Barnes win this battle. 

He clenches his jaw hard enough that he aches. Heat builds in his mouth, builds and builds until once again he opens his mouth without consciously doing so. 

Bucky Barnes’ apology falls from his lips. 

“Hey, sorry. Feelin’ off, is all,” he says. 

“Aw, I’m sorry, Buck. You’ve been awful quiet lately. Anything we can do?” Steve asks. 

“No, just a head thing. Should pass.”

But now that he is responding, Steve doesn’t stop and now _Bucky_ can’t stop. Steve brightens and lights up as Bucky talks and talks and talks, and he slumps against the counter and lets Bucky speak. He can’t stop the words from coming now, even as his tongue heats up as the words continue to spill from him. 

The witch grins at them from the table, her eyes on Steve. Vision has a puzzled look on their face as they look at him. Neither interrupt their conversation, and Steve keeps chatting and laughing and reminiscing with Bucky Barnes. 

Bucky laughs at some story about a dog back in the 30’s, and he wants to choke himself. 

The dreams are not enough for Bucky. Bucky is battling for Steve. 

But he is the Asset and he refuses to give ground. 

He shuts himself away in his room. He locks the cleaning robot inside with him because he finds the soft motorized noises a soothing background. 

He has continued to spot-check the insides, but has yet to discover any recording devices or weapons. He has started to empty the receptacle bin in trade for his disturbing the robot before sending it back on its way. 

He grabs his journal and a pen, then tosses the journal and grabs a sheet of loose paper instead. 

_I am the Asset,_ he writes, just to be sure that he is still himself. _I am the Asset_.

He rips that part off, then starts again. 

_I’m sorry_. 

_I’m sorry. <strike>I can’t say what I think anymore, what I mean. </strike>_

_I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said to you. I don’t know where the words came from, but I didn’t mean them. I’m sorry. _

_I meant to say thank you. _

He doesn’t sign the note. He’s not sure how he would sign it. Not as Bucky, and The Asset might cause alarm. He folds the paper in half and then leaves it at the door to Stark’s workshop.

He will not give ground. He will win. He will beat Bucky Barnes, and he will use any available means to do so. 

The dreams increase. The red haze is constantly there in his mind. When he runs into Steve, the right Bucky Barnes answers come to him immediately. They almost start to feel like his own words. He tries to swallow him. 

It’s a losing battle. 

He keeps writing. 

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’m here. I’m sorry that I killed your parents. I’m sorry that I don’t remember them. I’m sorry that I lied to you that day. I wish I remembered them. I wish I remembered everything, but I don’t even know if what I remember is real. _

_I’m sorry that Steve lied to you. I didn’t ask him to. I didn’t know that he knew. _

_I’m sorry that I fought you in Siberia. I deserved more pain than that. _

_I’m sorry we left you there._

_I’m sorry, for all of it. I’m sorry that you had to bring us back. I’m sorry that you have to deal with me being here. I’m sorry that I can’t say this to you in person, in words. I don’t think I’d say it right. I think it would come out twisted and wrong, like everything seems to these days, and I’m sorry for that_.

He goes to leave his latest note for Stark at the door of the workshop when the door slides open. 

“Enough already, Barnes,” Stark sighs. 

The name rankles, but it’s better than being called Bucky. He steps into the workshop, as that seems to be what’s expected.

Stark sits further back, at one of his tables, but he’s facing the entrance. 

“I - it’s fine,” Stark says, running a hand through his hair. “God, how do you accept apologies? I never get them so I’m totally out of practice. Um, I accept them. All of them. We’re, uh, we’re good.”

Stark has been getting the notes then. He’s been reading them. One of the cleaning robots hasn’t come by and vacuumed it up before Stark has seen, or he hasn’t simply burned it upon sight. 

That’s - that’s good. 

He nods, relieved. 

“Yeah? I mean, it sucks, obviously, but I read your files,” Stark continues. “I saw what they did to you. I don’t - I know it’s - a Hydra thing, basically. And you’re not, anymore.”

He shakes his head. The trigger words are removed. He’s no longer Hydra’s Asset. 

But he is not Bucky Barnes, either. 

Stark gives a short snort and starts fiddling with the glowing diagram in front of him. “Uh, okay, well, that’s it? You can stop leaving me notes now? Said all you want to say?”

He wants to say thank you.

“How do you live with yourself?” is what he asks, again. The words are a harsh accusation, and they burn his lips as he spits them out. 

He slaps a hand over his mouth again to stop himself before he says the rest. 

Stark’s shoulders slump and he laughs, looking tired. “Really?”

He scrawls a quick _I’m sorry_ on the paper he had carried down with him and drops it on the floor of the workshop.

He leaves.

He’s used to disappearing. He doesn’t leave the grounds of the Compound, not yet willing to break the rules that he signed at the beginning, but the Compound is still a large place. He avoids everyone for hours, wandering the woods or ghosting through rooms. 

Bucky Barnes needs to die, but if Hydra didn’t kill the man than what will? What can he do?

When he gets back to his room, he notices that the screen on his wall has a blinking light in the corner. He touches the panel to display his messages, and he sees an email from Tony Stark. 

_Okay, so, seems like maybe email is a possible option. Definitely preferable to notes on paper, which, to be honest, hasn’t been cute since elementary school. I would guess. I wouldn’t know, it’s not like I ever had that phase._

_Arm still good?_

Bucky Barnes hasn’t ruined everything, at least. 

He slowly types out a reply on the holographic keyboard. He has no problem with the metal arm registering, just his fingers unpracticed on the movements. 

_I’m sorry_, he replies. 

There is no immediate response, and he realizes that the timestamp on Stark’s first message was over two hours ago.

He had been out in the woods at the time. He had circled, drawing a tighter and tighter net until he was confident there was no one else in the vicinity. 

He had tipped his head to the sky and screamed, letting out noise that was his. It was his shout and not Bucky’s. It would sound the same regardless, but he keeps this noise as his and his alone. 

Stark doesn’t reply until later, and he doesn’t see it until after he wakes up from another dream of Bucky’s memories. He blinks the red haze from his eyes to see the green light blinking, and he opens the message. 

_I get it. You’re sorry. It’s fine. As someone with motor mouth issues, I get it more than most. Yours is certainly something else though. But whatever, it’s not like you’re the first one to ask me that. No big deal_.

He doesn’t know what to say. Well, what he wants to say is too much. He’s not sure he should tell Stark everything, and would Stark even believe him if he did? Besides which, he actually wants the answer to that question. 

How does Stark live with himself? 

He’s read the reports. He saw the news. He’s seen discussion after discussion of Tony Stark’s life from birth to MIT to Iron Man to now. He knows what Stark has done, what Stark carries on his shoulders. 

How? How does Stark move forward while carrying all that? How does Stark reconcile his past with his future? 

How can _he_ do that?

And can he do it with Bucky Barnes trying to drag him back?

_The arm is fine_, is all he replies. 

Five minutes later, he sends another email to Stark.

_Thank you_. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to be up yesterday, but had internet issues and was too sick to go find a better signal. Apologies for the delay!

He keeps burning Bucky’s memories every morning, but his journal that chronicles his own memories, own thoughts, and own feelings grows. He hates sleeping, his dreams constantly plagued with Bucky Barnes, but he starts to write down his own dreams in his journal as well. 

He doesn’t dream at night, only Bucky does. His dreams are day dreams, if that. 

His first dream is simple. He dreams of picking his own book. 

Vision still leaves a selection of science-fiction on the end tables, but he dreams of the warmth of a romance novel. He dreams of the puzzle of a mystery, or the remembrance of history. He dreams for books to choose beyond the latest science fiction, though he did enjoy Vision’s latest choice about robot statues landing all over Earth and leaving puzzles for humans to solve. 

His dreams start expanding. He dreams of a shelf of books, then a library. He dreams of his apartment in Romania without the fear of Hydra. He dreams of walking down to a farmer’s market and being able to pick out the ripest plums. 

He dreams, he dreams, he dreams. 

He dreams of a mind of his own and a voice he can trust. 

He dreams of a world without Bucky Barnes.

He dreams.

Sam asks him a question at dinner, another attempt in an endless line of attempts. He keeps his mouth shut. Bucky does not answer. Sam lets it go and even distracts Steve so that Steve doesn’t press for the correct Bucky Barnes answer. 

It gives him an idea. 

He emails Sam after dinner the answer to the question. 

_Yes I’ve had sushi before_.

It had been a simple question meant to generate small talk. Sam’s ambition at starting a conversation had decreased until Sam only tossed out minor topics. But even here, with this, Bucky’s answer differed from his. He had had sushi. Barnes had not. 

He follows up the email with another line, his fingers typing quickly. 

_It’s called impatient fishing_.

With Hydra, sometimes fish had been the only food supply but there hadn’t been time or material to build a fire. He had eaten it raw, crunching the rib bones in his teeth. He’d also stolen a roll from a restaurant in Boston, intrigued by the smell and the variety of colors. His handlers had never found out, and he had liked it other than he had still been hungry for more afterwards. 

At dinner, he had eaten his fill. He had liked it. He doesn’t know how Bucky would answer that question, but he had liked it. 

Sam’s reply takes over an hour. 

_Dude, I’m not sure what you mean but I’m sure that I _don’t_ want to know._

He feels something. Pride, at circumventing Bucky’s voice and establishing his own. Nervous, because he has begun something that can be seen, that can be punished. Confusion, because he is not sure if he should reply, and if he does, what would he say?

He types slowly.

_Travel another hundred and sixty miles north and attempt to start a fire to cook the fish you caught with no wood and freezing wind. It’s the only food you have. You get impatient_.

He sends his message to Sam. 

Sam replies. 

_No thanks, I’m perfectly happy with my paid and delivered sushi. _

He nods, satisfied with this exchange. 

_I am the Asset_. _I am the Asset. I am not Bucky Barnes. I am the Asset_.

Only, he isn’t the Asset. He is not an Asset to HYDRA, not anymore and never again. He is not an Asset to the Avengers, not yet. He does not train, he does not fight, he does not kill for them - not yet. Is he still the Asset?

If he is not the Asset and he is not Bucky Barnes, then who is he?

He does not know the answer to that question. He does not know how to find out. Bucky Barnes still invades his dreams, red-coated memories that leave him waking up to red-coated vision. He still relies on writing _I am the Asset_ to know that he still has control over his mind. 

If he rejects Bucky Barnes and loses the Asset, then what is left of him?

His cleaning robot is broken. He does not fear punishment as it was not in his room at the time. His cleaning robot - and he gets the same one, one that he marked on the underside with a nick of his knife - is stranded at the top of the staircase. When he pushes the robot back onto safer ground, the robot does not move. 

He picks it up, opens it, examines it. The trash receptacle is not full. The wheels still spin when pushed. He is uncertain as to the malfunction. 

He places the robot back down onto the ground and walks away. Someone will find it and fix it. 

Or perhaps someone will find it and dispose of it. It is a malfunctioning tool. It is no longer useful. It serves no purpose. With no use, with no purpose, what is the point of keeping it? 

He returns to the cleaning robot. He picks it up. He could throw the broken machinery in the trash. That would be the most efficient and logical step. 

He takes a step, then another, in the direction of a waste container. 

He turns around and heads for the workshop. 

“Something on your mind, Terminator?”

He holds the cleaning robot in both hands. He doesn’t clutch it to his body, because that is an illogical response. 

This is Stark’s machine. Stark should do with it as Stark wishes, which may be throwing it away. 

He might fetch it from the trash still, just to have. He’s noticed that Steve has things on the shelves in Steve’s room that serve no purpose, and so he can do so as well. 

He hands the robot over to Stark. 

Stark raises his eyebrows but takes it, flipping it upside down and looking at it before shrugging and setting it on the bench. 

“Uh, thanks? I’ll take it from here. Glad no one tripped over it or anything, so, uh yeah.”

Stark nods and then goes back to work on the piece of wiring in front of him. 

He shifts on his feet. He did not anticipate leaving. What if Stark is only waiting for him to leave before throwing it away? Retrieving his robot from the trash will become much more difficult if he is unaware of the exact nature of its disposable. 

What if Stark recycles its parts, instead? Is that a better or worse fate?

Stark looks up and blinks at him. Stark gestures and a holographic keyboard shows up in front of his face. 

He takes a moment to figure out how best to phrase his question. 

_Is the robot able to return to its function?_

Stark puts a hand on the robot. 

“Uh, yeah. He should be fine. Quick fix probably, no big deal. I was just gonna finish - nah, never mind. Here, I’ll fix him up for you and you can take him back to his route. Sound good?”

He nods, but Stark is not looking at him anymore. Stark has opened up the robot and is scattering pieces across the table, muttering to himself.

He watches closely but pretends indifference. 

“Ah, there we go,” Stark says softly as he carefully pries up one of the panels. “Loose wire, sucked the battery life right out,” he says, and he looks up briefly before he goes back to the robot. 

Stark did not forget he was here. 

“Come here,” Stark beckons, mouthing the words around the screwdriver in his mouth and gesturing with a pair of tweezers in the other. “Let me show you in case you run across another stranded guy, yeah? Easy to fix, but a stupid weakness. I’ll have to figure out how to change the design so that the edge doesn’t wear on the wire like it does -”

He steps closer and watches Stark’s hands. 

Stark shows him, quick but clear, how to tighten the wire and check over the other most likely weaknesses. Stark replaces the battery but tells him where the charging stations are in case that’s easier. The robot is put together, lit up and good as new, in less than ten minutes. 

“There you go. Back and ready for action,” Stark says proudly as Stark hands the robot back to him. 

He takes the robot. 

“How’s the arm? Still treating you okay?”

He types his response, one-handed as he clutches the robot with the other. It’s a tight-grip. He’s clutching it. His heart is beating too fast, illogical but undeniable. 

_Arm is functioning within optimal parameters. _

_Thank you_.

“Sure, anytime. Happy to help. I don’t get paid enough as it is, so like if I want to blow some time on a glorified Roomba than I can do it and Ross can shut his mouth about it, right?”

He nods, feeling his lips twitch at the corner of his mouth. 

“See you around,” Stark says in dismissal. 

See you around. He is welcome to come again. He nods and leaves, and when he looks down at the cleaning robot, now restored, he smiles. 

The cleaning robot returns to cleaning as soon as he sets it back down on the floor. He walks through the other spaces that he is allowed to go, keeping a careful eye, but he does not see any other stranded cleaning robots.

He does run across the witch, reading a book in the windowsill. She watches him with an intense gaze that he does not like the entire time that he is in the room. He does not reach for his knife, but his fingers twitch with the urge. 

She smiles, pleased. 

As if she knows what he is thinking. 

He pauses, but she goes back to her book. She calmly turns a page and gives him no more of her attention. 

He moves on.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick heads up, Steve & Tony are going to snark at each other a little on this one.

Sam doesn’t like checking his email all the time, so he stops by with the gift of a cell phone. Sam also intends on a lengthy teaching session on how to use the cell phone, but the Stark technology is intuitive and not dissimilar to previously stolen models. 

He has trouble keeping up with different models sometimes - Hydra’s upgrades were always very similar to each other and there were rarely large transitional jumps, despite the cryo - but he is not completely unfamiliar with technology. 

Especially since he has been surviving in this world for several years now. 

Still, he does not tell Sam this. He merely ends up downloading several useful apps while Sam watches, huffing, and then adding Natasha on Snapchat. 

“Well then. Whatever floats your boat. I prefer texts to emails, as a heads up.”

He says nothing, out loud. He doesn’t care what Bucky Barnes has to say. Instead he snaps off a quick text. 

Sam snorts when he reads it. 

“Yeah, I regret this already,” he drawls without sincerity.

He texts Sam. He Snapchats Natasha. He emails Tony - not Stark. Tony, now, who fixes the robots and doesn’t mind when he comes down and watches Tony fix other things. Once it was his arm, a small gear that needed to be re-oiled in an inconvenient location. Another time it was a blender. A microwave. 

Not the suit, not the Iron Man armor that hangs in the back, but he is not insulted. He does not need to know the secrets or potential weaknesses of Iron Man. He does not want to know, just in case. 

Just in case his mind becomes not his own again. 

Now, at least, Tony Stark knows the secret of his arm. Blasting it off may still work, but Tony has had more time to come up with alternatives to stop him, if stopping him is necessary. 

Instead of anxious, this knowledge relaxes him. 

He does not like knowing that he is capable of hurting Steve, because Steve will let him. Steve will not fight back, not well enough. Steve could stop him, but there is a chance that Steve _will_ not. Sam can’t stop him. Natasha’s odds are not high enough, not with his enhancements. 

Tony will stop him. Tony is capable, and Tony would do so if necessary. 

Tony, who he still can’t talk to without saying those dreaded lines. 

_How do you live with yourself?_

But Tony plays his music loud. Tony does not wait to hear words, to hear a verbal response. He will read any written reply or question, through email or text, and sometimes he writes his reply and sometimes he speaks it, but Tony does not look for an answer from Bucky Barnes’ mouth. 

He takes deeper breaths, his shoulders relaxing, when he enters the workshop.

He starts spending more time there, with Tony. 

He brings books to read. He watches survival videos or cooking tutorials on the Internet, bringing headphones so that he can listen and Tony can still have his music. Sometimes he watches cat videos, and then he shows the best to Tony who will come join him on the couch. He also works on his own engineering projects, sometimes, like tuning up the cleaning robots or fixing a toaster. Projects that would take Tony less than thirty seconds, he realizes, but Tony doesn’t take over and even comes over and drops a few helpful hints if he gets stuck. 

Tony starts to give more detailed explanations when Tony fixes his arm, too. 

He is wasting Tony’s time. Tony has many things to do, between the Avengers and the Accords and Stark Industries, but Tony is _letting _him waste Tony’s time. It makes his head spin, sometimes, that this is where he is after everything. 

_He _is allowed to be here, not Bucky. 

Him. 

He’s not an Asset to Tony, and yet - and yet Tony greets him, smiling.

“Sir, you have a visitor,” FRIDAY says as she quiets the music. 

Steve is at the door, a neutral smile on his face. 

Tony lets out a quiet sigh. 

“Let him in.”

“Hey, I was just looking for Bucky,” Steve says with a careful nod at Tony. He walks over to the couch and crosses his arms, then uncrosses them and puts his hands on his hips. Then his shoulders slump and he puts his hands in his pockets. “I was wondering if you wanted to go into the city. Was thinking of getting a group together - and running it through the proper channels, of course,” he says with a quick glance at Tony. “Just some shopping, sight seeing. Knock off some cabin fever.”

He hears Tony’s snort, and that means Steve did as well. 

“You know, since we’re basically locked in.”

“Locked in, right. Not enough space in this hundred acres for the both of us, huh?” Tony asks, fingers drumming against the table and eyebrows raised.

“It’s a nice Compound, Tony. It’s the principle of the matter,” Steve retorts, but he doesn’t turn to face Tony. 

“Yeah, you and your _principles_.”

“Yeah, I’d love to,” he says, because Bucky doesn’t stay quiet around Steve anymore. He feels the heavy gaze that Tony levels him with, but he keeps looking at Steve. “See the old stompin’ grounds, get a feel for the new city. Just let me know when and I’ll be there.”

“Great,” Steve says, flashing him a wide smile. “I was hoping for this afternoon yet, depends on when the committee gets back to me.”

He nods. 

Steve turns to leave, but then pauses. 

“I assume you’re too busy to come.”

“You are _so _right,” Tony replies as he fiddles with the screwdriver in front of him and stares Steve down. 

“We’ll miss you.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

Steve clenches his jaw shut and then strides out of the workshop. 

He wonders if he should follow.

Tony doesn’t glance at him, just signals FRIDAY to turn the music back up. 

The city is fine. Crowded and dirty, but he expected that. The tail of agents following them - as if they could stop any of them from breaking the Accords - keep a buzz going in the back of his brain as he scans for other threats, but overall their visit is quiet. 

Quiet from an attack angle, at least. 

He tries to keep quiet as well, but Steve is not satisfied. Steve wants his best friend back.

Steve wants _Bucky _back. 

He can’t keep his mouth shut. Bucky’s Brooklyn accent falls from his mouth. His hands move with Bucky’s gestures. He moves like Bucky would move; he even hugs Steve, muscles tense and screaming, because that’s what Bucky would do when they stand at the entrance to Coney Island and reminisce. 

Sam says nothing, but his forehead wrinkles in confusion. Natasha watches, gaze neutral. 

The witch smiles, wide and pleased. 

They get stopped again for autographs - Steve and Sam, specifically - and he is grateful for the break. He snaps his mouth shut against Bucky Barnes, jaw aching in punishment. He slips back into the shadows, slipping the agent tail. 

He wants a moment alone, which is easy enough in the crowd of people. 

The rest of the world doesn’t need him to be Bucky Barnes. In this city, no one looks twice at him. No one talks to him. No one even glances in his direction, and his shoulders start to relax in relief. 

His gaze catches on the bright colors in the shop window, and he ducks inside out of curiosity. 

He emerges with a plastic bag carrying his purchase. It was a simple exchange, and he didn’t require Bucky to speak at all, which is for the best. He doesn’t need Bucky’s commentary on this. 

“Don’t do that again,” Natasha mutters when he joins the fringe of the group again. “You’ll get us all in trouble that we really don’t need right now.”

He says nothing. The witch glares at him with suspicion, but he ignores her. He isn’t sorry. 

Sam and Steve are still signing autographs and taking pictures. A few of the braver kids are lining up for Vision, but none dare approach the rest of them.

“What’s in the bag?” Steve asks when they finally move on. 

He swallows and tries to shake his head. 

“Ain’t none of your business, is what,” he says. 

He and Bucky are finally in agreement about something. He resents being grateful. 

“Oooh, Barnes has a secret,” Sam says. 

“Aw, come on, Buck.”

“Fine,” he says. Bucky gives in, just like that, and he hates him more now. “But if you wanna see, you gotta carry it the rest of the day.”

Steve snorts. “Hand it over.”

He hands it over. _Bucky _hands it over. 

Steve opens the bag, and his curiosity turns into a frown as he pulls out the large stuffed cat. The cat is black with blue beady eyes, forever held to a sitting position with a long black tail that hangs free. 

“But you don’t like cats?” Steve questions. 

“Yup,” Bucky says with a grin. “That’s true.”

No, he thinks to himself. That’s not true. Not anymore. Bucky had hated them, always underfoot at the docks and willing to take a swipe at vulnerable ankles, but he didn’t. A white cat used to sun itself on his balcony in Romania, and he liked the quiet company. 

He’d been tempted by the white cat plush, but figured the black one would show fewer oil stains.

Steve shrugs and puts the cat back in the bag. 

“Uh, thank you?” Tony says, eyes wide and blinking when the black cat is set on his workshop table. 

He had almost turned back three times before he finally entered the workshop. He was being illogical and ridiculous. Tony did not need his stupid gift. Still, he had gone. He had opened the bag, and set the cat in front of Tony. 

Now, Tony reaches out and rubs one of the soft fabric ears between his fingers. 

He is pleased. 

He nods to Tony and then moves to leave the workshop. 

“Uh, how did the trip go? I mean, anything exciting happen? Stop a theft at the pier, try out a new ice cream flavor on Seventh Ave, food poisoning at a cart, anything like that?”

After the day of speaking, Bucky should be tired. He is tired, after responding to Steve’s questions all day and even bodily acting like Bucky Barnes. Then Sam, Natasha, Vision, and the witch had all talked to him too, and Bucky had replied. But now the exhaustion just makes him slip and open his mouth to answer Tony’s questions as well. 

“How do you live with yourself?”

He slaps a hand over his mouth, too late. Why is this all that Bucky will say to Tony? 

Why does Bucky say this at all?

Tony tilts his head. “Huh. You know, I know you know more words than that, Barnes.”

He tries not to flinch at the name. Usually Tony stuck to nicknames and so it wasn’t a problem. 

“Hang on, let’s try something. Come here,” Tony beckons.

He steps closer.

“Pretend the cat asked you that question.” Tony grabs the cat, plops it down in front of him, and then makes the cat’s head tilt as if in curiosity.

He stares at Tony, the cat, then Tony again. 

“How was the trip?” Tony asks, voice high-pitched as he wiggles the plush cat. 

He glares. 

“Snowflake? How was it?”

He crosses his arms and then turns to leave.

“No, wait,” Tony says, going back to his normal voice. “This is a serious experiment. FRIDAY, ask him.”

“How was your trip, Sergeant?” FRIDAY asks with a sigh. 

He curls in on himself. Now everyone has asked for Bucky Barnes today. He should not have come back down to the workshop. 

“It was nice,” he says, shoulders drooping. “Seein’ what’s changed, what hasn’t. Brooklyn is mighty different.”

Tony steps closer. “Now say that to me.”

He shakes his head, not wanting the words to come out again. 

“It’s okay,” Tony says softly, entering his space. “I can handle it.”

He opens his mouth, as directed. He lets Bucky spill out. 

“How do you live with yourself? How can you call yourself a hero with all those bombs, all those guns, all that war? You judge the rest of us, but -”

Tony puts a hand over his mouth, stopping the words. 

“Alright. That’s - well, that’s certainly something.” 

Tony takes his hand away. 

He turns around. 

“Wait - Bucky!”

He wants to scream at that name, that damn name, but he refuses to open his mouth. 

He runs. 

_I am the Asset. _

_I am not Bucky Barnes. _

_ <strike>I am the Asset. </strike> _

_I am not Bucky Barnes. _


	6. Chapter 6

He runs to the forest and screams with his/Bucky’s voice.

There is something he misses about the trigger words - that he did not remember what he did when he was activated. He did not have to watch himself speak and act in ways he does not wish. He just simply did not remember. 

Except for the dreams, but he cannot be sure they are real. 

He punches one tree, exploding bark and wood in his fury. He punches another, and another. He uses metal and flesh, trading off even as he gets wood chips stuck in his metal plates and breaks the skin on his knuckles. 

Bucky Barnes is winning. Even Tony thinks that he is Bucky. _He_ does not exist. Tony, Steve, everyone only wants Bucky Barnes. They do not see him, they do not want him. 

He stops, breathing heavy, at the end of a path of destruction. Trees are broken, fallen behind him. Wood cracks with pain, and another trunk tips. He is not an Asset. He is a Destroyer. The homes of birds, the shade of animals, the growth of years. He has destroyed it for no reason. He is still a danger. 

He is worthless, and dangerous, and should not exist. 

He would destroy Bucky Barnes. He would destroy everything. 

He falls to his knees. 

He would destroy himself. 

“Excuse me.”

He hangs his head. 

“I apologize for my disturbance,” the android continues. “If you prefer privacy, I will be on my way.”

He tries to speak, but has no words. Not even Bucky has something to say. 

“If, however, you need company, I am happy to provide it. I have been told that I make a great listener.”

He clenches his fists and doesn’t look up. He hears Vision approach and knows the android is purposefully making noise. 

“Or, I have been known to monologue. Most consider this a flaw, but I have noticed that you prefer not to speak. Perhaps this will make a good complement?”

He says nothing. Bucky says nothing. 

“I have observed many humans. I still cannot claim to understand them, though I try to emulate so many of their great qualities. You, however, remain an enigma. I have read your files in hopes to understand. I hope you do not mind.”

He says nothing. Bucky says nothing. 

“You struggle still, even with the removal of words of conditioning and activation. I wonder if - that is to say, I too still struggle to figure out who I am. What my purpose is. I was created like this, one day born into consciousness due to the combined efforts of Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner, and this stone.”

He looks up. Vision gestures to the yellow gem in their forehead. 

“I merely wish to convey that you are not alone. I can talk about my own journey or listen to your words, if you would find that comforting or at all illuminating.”

He says nothing. Bucky says nothing. 

“I would keep such conversations under the strictest of confidences. You cannot hurt me, and I have witnessed the entirety of humanity’s destruction. This does not compare.”

He says nothing. Bucky says nothing. 

Vision says nothing more. 

Quiet settles between them. The birds do not chirp because he has disturbed their home. 

Vision leaves. 

He remains. Bucky remains, though Bucky is quiet. He does not feel Bucky Barnes in his mouth. 

The entirety of humanity’s destruction, Vision had said. His destruction does not compare. He is not the worst monster that the world as seen. It is a small comfort, but a comfort still.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He takes it out. 

A text from Sam. _Hey man. I got permission to go out for sushi. Just you and me, if you want. We can stuff our faces and not talk because we’re macho men or whatever. Let me know. _

A Snapchat from Natasha. A picture of one of the plants that Natasha had gifted him, placed in a communal area so she could check his caregiving without trespassing into his room. _Needs water. Still on probation_.

He hasn’t been cleared for unsupervised plant maintenance yet. In time, if he passes her training, Natasha would gift him with a fern that he would be allowed to keep in his room. 

These are not connections that Bucky Barnes has made. These are conversations, connections, _relationships_ that he built himself. Bucky Barnes has not taken everything. Bucky Barnes is not everything. 

An email from Tony. 

_Hey. Look, I’m sorry. I’m an asshole, I’m sure you’ve heard that. Terrible at people. Better at machines, which is why I keep asking about your arm all the time. Anyway, I said something or did something, etc. etc. and I’m sorry. Let me know what I did and I won’t do it again. Well, I have a terrible track record. Just ask your buddy Steve sometime, he’s sure to have some stories. _

_But I’ll try. If you want me to, I mean. If you never want to see me again, that’s cool. Well, not cool but I can handle it, I’m a big boy. I can talk Shuri into some more international travel and there’s a guy, Peter, who works for me who could be your go-to for some more cool projects if you want. _

_Whatever you want. _

Attached is a cat video. A calico cat with a shark hat riding around on a cleaning robot as it moves around the floor.

He stands. 

If he is a Destroyer, then he will destroy Bucky Barnes. 

He will remain. 

He will win. 

He will be. 

_I am not Bucky Barnes._

_I am not the Asset. _

_I am - _

_I Am. _

_I AM_

He is. 

_Don’t call me Bucky_, he emails Tony. 

He exists. 

_Be there at 4 and remember your credit card. You’re paying_, he texts Sam. 

He is himself. 

He hands Vision his journal. His thoughts, his dreams, his memories. How he hates Bucky Barnes. How he can’t apologize to Tony Stark. How he likes the feel of a paperback book in his hands. How he keeps his knives stashed close but hasn’t touched a gun since Siberia. How he likes Sam Wilson but pretends he doesn’t. How he isn’t sure he likes taking care of plants, but likes Natasha’s careful teaching. 

Word upon word, sentence upon sentence, he hands over who he is. Who _he_ is, not Bucky Barnes. 

He is, he is, he is. 

Vision accepts the offering with due reverence. 

“I am honored to keep your confidence,” Vision says. 

He nods in acceptance and gratitude. 

Walking away and leaving the journal with Vision aches. He wants to run back and grab it, hide it, but he doesn’t. He continues to walk away. He leaves his life in the hands of Vision, in the hands of someone who knows what it is to forge themselves from nothing. 

Next, he goes to the man who knows what it is to shed the past and be reborn. 

“Snowflake,” Tony greets with a careful, hopeful smile. 

_Don’t call me Bucky_. He had practiced the line until his hand no longer shook. Over and over and over again until the letters are confident, their intent clear. 

“What is this?” Steve asks when he hands Steve the note. 

He flicks the paper for Steve to read again. He clenches his jaw shut. He will not let Bucky win. 

“Bu -” Steve swallows the name. He rubs his face. “What do I call you, then?” he asks, brow furrowed in concern. He stares, his blue eyes dark and worried. 

He shrugs. 

“I don’t understand,” Steve presses.

His mouth burns, but he is used to pain. He refuses to let Bucky speak. 

He walks away, leaving Steve calling after him, before Bucky can break him. 

_I am not Bucky Barnes. _

_I am not the Asset. _

_I AM_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve is going to be supportive, no worries, he's just confused right now!!


	7. Chapter 7

“A name is a powerful thing,” Vision says as they sit at the kitchen table.

They each have coffee cups in front of them, full of coffee, though neither drink from them. He thinks that they are both mimicking the common habit of coffee, but it is good to have something to look at other than Vision’s face. 

“Well, let me rephrase. A name  _ can _ be a powerful thing. It only imbues with as much power as we allow it to hold. That is true for all words, though you have been subject to words with immense power… I digress. A name. It can carry a sense of identity, as you well know.”

Bucky. 

The weight of the name, the expectation, the  _ identity _ was crushing him. Throttling him. Choking him. 

“Personally, I found it helpful to have a name. Something I called myself, to orient my thoughts. Something that I decided was mine. Ultron called me his vision. Mr. Stark, in building the code that made up my base existence, was doing so with his vision of the future. While both of those statements are true, the name ‘Vision’ is mine. It does not belong to Ultron or Mr. Stark. I took it from them and made it my own. Mine to identify. Does that make sense?”

He takes several moments to think. He likes that Vision does not mind his silence. 

He nods. 

Bucky is not his. He refuses to own it or redefine it. Bucky Barnes was someone else. He does not need to write over that identity. 

He needs to make his own. 

He needs a name. 

_ What do I call you _ , Steve had asked. 

_ Who am I _ , he had asked. 

I am, I am, I am - 

He needs a name. 

The conversation he had with Tony, the man who would tell him how to shed Bucky and the past:

_ How did you do it? How did you leave the past behind, after everything, and move forward? _ He had typed on the holographic keypad so that Tony could read his questions. 

Tony tilted his head. “What?”

_ Weapons to clean energy. Iron Man. You rebuilt yourself.  _

Again and again and again, though Tony’s face tells him that he does not need more details. 

Tony sighed. 

He clenched his fists so his fingers wouldn’t twitch. His heartbeat was loud in his ears as he waited for Tony’s answer. 

“I didn’t. It’s still there. For everyone to see, everyone to read, for - for me to deal with, every day,” Tony explained quietly. “It doesn’t go away. People don’t forget, especially not me.”

His breath caught in his throat. He had begun to hope, and now he feels the fall. 

“You just - do better. Every day. Every  _ hour _ . Learn from before and make a better choice.That’s all it is, really.”

He took a breath. 

“I can’t tell you how to move on. Just - just to move forward. You’d be amazed at how much brighter the future is if you just hold on and keep trying. See the future, then live in it.”

Keep going. Just keep going. 

He could do that. 

He thinks he can do that.

  
  


He hears the soft footsteps of the witch, and he goes tense. 

“Vision? What are you doing?” she asks when she enters the doorway. She takes in their coffee cups with suspicion. 

“We were conversing. Chatting,” Vision corrects.

Mimicry of more normal patterns of speech. He feels less alone. 

“About what?”

Vision stumbles. They have promised discretion, but they are not practiced - or perhaps even capable - of lying. 

“I was sharing the story of how I acquired my name,” Vision explains. 

“That’s an odd topic of conversation,” the witch says. 

She turns her focused gaze from Vision to him. 

He looks at the coffee cup, grateful for its presence. 

“I have such few occasions to tell it. Most were present when it happened or were there to see me learn. Did you need something?” Vision prompts.

The witch hesitates. “No, I don’t.”

She leaves the room, but he can still feel her presence. He stands from the table, done with the conversation. 

“Well, perhaps another time. I hope our conversation is fruitful.”

He needs a name. 

_ I am not Bucky Barnes. I am not the Asset _ . 

_ Snowflake. Freezer Burn. Tasty Freeze. Manchurian Candidate. Winter Soldier. Soldier. Ghost Story. Brood Muffin.  _

All names, but none that feel like his. Or, if they are, then they all feel equally his. He can have more than one name. Most seem to have three - a first, a middle, and a last. Does he randomly pick three names from this list? How does he decide?

_ I am the Winter Soldier _ . 

_ I am Snowflake.  _

_ I am _ \- 

A name. How does he decide?

  
  


“If not Bucky, then what do I call you?” Steve asks. 

He walks away without answering. 

“You don’t have to rush a decision. You don’t even have to make a decision, not a final one,” Sam says. 

This time they’re eating curry. Sam made it, though the seasoning came out of a packet with instructions on the back. 

They’re alone on Sam’s floor, and he appreciates the privacy. 

“Look, most people are named by their parents. Sometimes the name works, and sometimes - for a lot of different reasons - the name doesn’t. Pick some that you like and try it out. Have us call you by it, see if you like it. If you don’t like it, then change it. If you get bored with it, change it. If you find one you like better six months from now…”

He smiles. 

“Yeah, you’re getting it.  _ Change it _ . Oh no you don’t, that last piece of naan is mine!”

Tony blinks at him when he asks for help and then has FRIDAY email him a list of the most popular names in the last one hundred years. 

“Should be some good ones on there,” Tony says. 

He doesn’t feel like a Liam. 

Noah?

“William. Will. Willie,” Tony says and then giggles.

He shakes his head. 

Mason. He wrinkles his nose. 

Oliver. That one has potential. 

Tony nods approval when he adds it to the list. 

Jacob and Logan also make it onto the list. Jayden does not - Tony tosses that one out on account of being too hipster. 

Michael, Ethan, Alexander. So many choices. How did parents name their child? How did anyone pick a single name for the rest of their life?

Tony highlights one and puts it on screen. 

James. 

Something stirs in his memory at that name. A Bucky-memory. He looks at Tony, and Tony shrugs. 

_ “Everyone and their dog is named James. There’s five in th’ class!” Bucky whines. He kicks a can that had fallen into the gutter.  _

_ Bucky and Steve walk back from school. When they reach the can, it’s Steve’s turn to kick it.  _

_ “I’m not gonna be called James #4 my whole life. Why’d my mom have to pick such a stupid common name? I  _ hate _ James _ .”

James Buchanan Barnes. It’s who he was. Is that who he is now? 

He hates Bucky. Bucky hates James.

He adds it to the list. 

“Logan?” Steve asks, eyebrows high. “You want me to call you Logan.”

He nods - Logan nods. 

“I, uh -” Steve runs a hand through his hair and blows out a breath. He isn’t happy, but he pastes a grin on his face anyway. “Okay. Logan. I can remember that.”

_ I am not Bucky. I am not the Asset.  _

_ I am Logan.  _

He tries Logan for two weeks, but it doesn’t stick. He feels no attachment to the name, no weight. Maybe he’s rushing it, like Sam says, but he needs something to hold up to Bucky. He needs support to help him stand against the expectation, the identity, of Bucky Barnes. 

Logan isn’t up to the task, not for him. 

Oliver doesn’t last three days. Turns out he doesn’t like how it sounds. He tries Jacob. 

“What is happening,” the witch whispers to Steve one morning. 

Jacob is sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. Again, he doesn’t drink it, but he likes how he fits in with the rest of the team when he has the cup in hand. 

“Be supportive,” Steve warns softly. “It’s - if he wants to change his name, then that’s - that’s fine.”

“His name is Bucky,” the witch hisses. 

Steve doesn’t reply. Jacob watches Steve march from the room, back straight. 

The witch glares at Jacob, and Jacob goes back to staring at his coffee. 

  
  


“I don’t think you ever truly find yourself,” Vision comments one afternoon as they read their respective books. 

Vision, another science-fiction. Jacob, a thriller. 

“Not completely. We are each ever-changing, building and building ourselves. I am Vision, but every day I continue to decide what that means.”

Jacob snorts. It sounded exhausting. 

He writes it out and hands the note over to Vision.

Vision smiles. “Well, it is the work of a lifetime, isn’t it?”

His dreams are full of red haze and memories. Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes. They are at their worst, and Jacob wakes feeling like he didn’t sleep at all. 

He writes down Bucky’s memories and burns them, as usual. 

He then writes down his. 

_ I am Bucky. I am not the Asset.  _

_ I am Bucky _ . 

He drops the pen. 

His mind is no longer his own. 

He rushes to the workshop. He will hurt Steve, because Steve will let him. Natasha may not win. Sam will definitely not win. Vision will refuse to fight until possibly too late. Tony. Tony will stop him from doing damage. 

Tony will understand. 

He rushes into the workshop and sees Tony slowly sitting up on the couch. 

The black cat that he purchased for Tony is in the crook of Tony’s arm, and Tony rubs sleep from his eyes. 

“Morning. FRIDAY said you were coming in hot,” Tony mumbled. He yawned. “You didn’t bring coffee with you, did you?”

“How do you live with yourself,” he rushes out, frantic. He waves for a keyboard, but he’s already too late. 

_ How do you live with yourself _ , his fingers type without permission. His fingers burn as he fights the compulsion, and he can almost see the red haze of his dreams surrounding them. 

I am Bucky, I am Bucky, I am Bucky, his thoughts circle. 

I AM BUCKY

Tony rushes to him when Tony sees the note. “Oh shit. Oooh shit. Okay, uh, okay, we can handle this. I need to scan you. Please tell me you’re okay with this. Can you nod or something?”

Bucky nods. 

“I promise this won’t hurt. If you get flashbacks, well, we’ll deal with it then. Remember I have a gold titanium alloy suit and you can’t harm me. Okay, over here, just a bit farther.”

Tony helps him over to a chair, and then Tony wheels him over to a corner of the room. 

“FRIDAY?”

“On it, Boss.”

“Less invasive than a CT scan. Little bit less information, too, but hey - good enough, really. Or it should be,” Tony chatters through as equipment circles around Bucky’s head. “You know what? Here, watch this.”

Tony shoves a cat video onto the screen, and Bucky watches it. 

Jacob watches the video. 

Bucky watches the video. 

I am - I am Bucky Barnes. 

The video is tinged red, and he closes his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fill for Winteriron Bingo square G1: family feud. I think it fits ;) 
> 
> Warning for a brief suicidal ideation moment

Tony’s fingers drum against the work table as he analyzes the scans. 

Bucky/Jacob feels the thump thump thump along his pulse as he waits for the results. 

Tony’s brows are pinched. It can’t be good news. 

Tony sighs. “Well, got good news and bad news for you. Which do you want to hear first?” 

Tony waves off the question. He can’t reply anyway. 

“It’s the same news, regardless, so here it goes. Scans show there’s nothing wrong with your brain.”

He goes still. Nothing wrong. There is nothing wrong with his brain. Nothing wrong with _Bucky’s_ brain, because this is Bucky’s. Bucky is winning or has already won, and he is only just realizing. 

I am Bucky Barnes. 

Tony is still talking. “I used Shuri’s software to make sure there’s nothing going on with those pesky trigger words, but so far you’re in the green. So, at least it looks like whatever this is isn’t related. I would go as far as to guess - and my guesses are better than your average guess, let me remind you - that this isn’t related to Hydra. Doesn’t have the same signature.”

Tony paced, but kept his walk short. The scan from Bucky’s brain was always in view. 

“Makes sense. Hydra wouldn’t just program you to _insult_ me. Either attack me outright, or lure me into a false pretense so you can attack me then.”

Tony turned and stared at Bucky, then shook his head.

“Well, you’ve had plenty of chances, and if you were the assassin that everyone claimed you were you would’ve done it by now. So, still voting ‘no’ on the Hydra plan unless they’re just being idiots.” Tony clapped his hands. “It’s been about a week since I had such a challenge ahead of me. What do you say, Terminator? Ready to delve into the depths of neuroscience?”

He shakes his head. Bucky shakes his head. 

There is nothing wrong with his brain. He is - he is Bucky Barnes. 

“Snowflake?” 

Bucky leaves the workshop. 

Bucky stomps into his room. The cleaning robot bumps against one of his walls, turns, and goes in another direction. He picks up the robot. Turns it over. 

There is a nick from a knife on the underside. 

He brushes his fingers against the waste receptacle. If he was Jacob, he would empty it. But he is Bucky and this is not _Bucky’s _robot. Bucky did not make that nick. Bucky did not empty its trash or check its wires. Bucky has not seen a cleaning robot. 

_Bucky _wants to throw the robot. _Bucky _wants to destroy it. 

Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. 

He hates Bucky. 

He hates himself. 

He grabs his pen. He writes, printing the letters slowly and with force. 

I

AM

JAB- 

The letter C that he tries to force himself to write becomes a B with a jerk of his wrist. He tries again, and he forms a U. Then, he can form a C. He finishes with a K and a Y.

_I am Bucky. _

There’s a knock on his door. 

“Jacob?” 

Vision. 

He doesn’t answer. He is not Jacob. He is Bucky Barnes. 

He burned Bucky’s memories, Bucky’s thoughts, Bucky’s dreams. Now, does he have nothing? Or does he start all over again, only keeping the parts of Bucky and burning the rest? 

Half of the books on his shelf must go. Bucky Barnes only reads science fiction. Bucky Barnes doesn’t check on the cleaning robots. Bucky Barnes doesn’t work on small projects in Tony Stark’s lab. Bucky Barnes boxes with Steve and will play baseball with Sam. 

He grabs a knife. It was his, not Bucky’s, but now it is Bucky’s. He turns it in his hand and stares at the blade. 

He knows death. He has felt it, existed on the edge. Hydra and their chair, their experiments. Targets and their defenses, their bullets. He has almost died many times. 

This feels like that. He is being suffocated by Bucky Barnes. There is no room for him. Not in Bucky’s mind, not in Bucky’s body. He is being shut down, replaced, overwritten. 

Hydra did not win, in the end. They did not erase Bucky Barnes. 

He did not win. Bucky will remain, and he will not. 

The knife gleams in his hand, but he sets it aside. 

Bucky has won. Bucky deserves to deal the killing blow. 

_I AM JA - BUCKY_

_I AM JA - BUCKY_

His phone buzzes with notifications. Texts from Sam, Snapchats from Natasha, emails from Tony. 

They are not Bucky’s friends. He will not let Bucky have them. 

_I AM JA - BUCKY_

_I AM JA_

He tries every letter of the alphabet other than a B. He cannot make an A or a C. D, E, F come out as B’s. He keeps trying, and trying, and trying until -

_M_

He can make an M. He stares down at his writing, but it doesn’t change. He slowly but intentionally pens the rest. 

_I AM JAMES_

Bucky hates James, but he is still James Buchanan Barnes. 

He still hates Bucky. He _can_ hate Bucky - he has a small part left of his own mind. He can speak with Bucky’s voice or write with Bucky’s hand, but he can still think for at least this moment. 

For right now, he can be James. 

And Bucky hates James. 

James smiles. 

  


Another knock on the door. 

“Jacob? You okay?”

Steve. 

James licks his lips. This will be a true test of his identity, on whether James can hold up to Bucky.

He opens the door. 

“My name is Bucky,” he says forcefully.

Steve blinks in surprise. “Um - are you, are you sure? Because if you’d rather go by something else, then I will support you. I’m your friend, no matter what.”

Steve is Bucky’s friend. Bucky is Steve’s friend. 

Maybe James could be Steve’s friend too, but Bucky will not allow James to exist, not with Steve. 

“I am Bucky Barnes,” he says dully. His test did not work. He did not succeed. He still can’t say his name of James.

Steve frowns and crosses his arms. “If you’d rather go by Jacob, than I will -”

His mouth burns. His throat is on fire. He needs to get Steve to believe him, he _has_ to. 

“Call me Bucky. My name is Bucky!”

Steve steps back, his hands raised in defense. “Okay. Okay, Bucky. Take a breath. Relax.”

“Steve, it’s time for dinner,” the witch calls from the end of the hallway. 

The heat fades in his mouth. He takes a breath. 

Perhaps that is how Bucky means to kill him - with fire. 

Bucky joins Steve for dinner. The team is quiet, and Bucky feels the heavy gazes but doesn’t raise his head to meet them. Other than to eat, he keeps his mouth shut. 

The witch and Vision made dinner. Chicken Paprikash.

James likes it. The smell reminds him of a restaurant he’d visited in Romania, one three blocks down from his apartment. 

His apartment where he was able to live by himself, where the weight of Bucky Barnes was light. He’d been writing down his memories even then, trying to figure out who this Bucky was. 

The food makes him long for that simpler time. 

Before Steve had found him. Before he’d been activated. Before he’d fought Tony. 

He couldn’t trust his mind then, but he can’t trust himself even now. He doesn’t know when Bucky will land the final blow. Is it better to die by Hydra’s hand or by Bucky Barnes’?

Forks scrape against plates. Glasses chink against the table. Napkins rustle against mouths and hands. 

“That was delicious Wanda, Vision. Thanks for dinner,” Steve says. 

“You’re welcome. Vision is becoming quite the cook.”

“It is an interesting journey since I don’t actually eat,” Vision offers. 

Natasha stands and starts collecting the dishes. Bucky passes his empty plate to Sam, who is helping. 

Chairs scrape against the floor. Natasha and Sam talk through the packing of leftovers. Steve stands up from the table. 

Vision turns to Bucky. 

“Jacob, I was hoping to talk to you now that dinner has concluded,” Vision says. 

His tongue is scorching in his mouth. 

“My name is Bucky,” he says, almost tripping over the words in his rush to say them. “I am Bucky.”

Vision frowns. Steve pauses. 

“I am Bucky,” he repeats again, eyes wide. The heat isn’t fading, his mouth is burning. “I am Bucky!”

Everyone is staring at him now. His death with be public.

“I am Bucky!”

The fire spreads down his throat. 

Tony bursts into the room. “I totally saw this coming, again, but no one listened to me -”

“Don’t,” Steve calls out, putting a hand to stop Tony’s approach. “Give him some space. I don’t - I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Isn’t that just typical,” Tony snarls. 

Bucky puts his head in his hands and rocks on his chair. He is Bucky, he is Bucky. 

No, there is a part of him that is still James, but he desperately wants to keep that part. 

But _HE IS BUCKY_.

“I don’t understand,” Vision says. “From our conversations, I am confident with my conclusion that he is _not_ Bucky Barnes.”

“He _is _Bucky though,” the witch presses. “He was fine earlier. Steve, you’ve said he’s just like he was before, when you were kids.”

“He was but…” 

_HE IS BUCKY_

“Something has been wrong with him for awhile - oh shove off Rogers, I’m not going to hurt him,” Tony says, avoiding Steve’s hand and stepping closer. His shoes come right up to Bucky’s view of the floor. “It’s not Hydra. I don’t even think it’s - ugh, I can’t believe I have to say this. I don’t think this is _science_.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks forcefully. 

“Show them,” Tony says quietly, crouching down in front of Bucky. 

In front of James. 

Bucky. 

James. 

“Say it,” Tony says. 

James looks up. It’s Bucky who speaks. 

“How do you live with yourself?” Bucky whispers. ““How can you call yourself a hero with all those bombs, all those guns, all that war? You judge the rest of us, but we are nothing compared to you. How do you look at yourself and see anything -”

“Bucky!” Steve interrupts, shocked. 

“Oh my God,” Natasha whispers. 

“What. The. Hell,” Sam offers. 

“Bucky wouldn’t say that,” Steve says. “That’s not - Tony, you can’t think -”

Tony pats Bucky’s knee - James’ knee - and stands. “Don’t squawk, Rogers, of course I don’t think he means it. What’s interesting is that that is _all_ our Terminator can say to me. Word for word, on repeat - he talks to me, and that’s what he says.”

“What?” Steve snaps, rubbing his forehead. “No, I heard you, I just - what does this mean?”

Tony shrugs. 

“Someone with a grudge against Tony is using Bucky - or, Jacob, or - _him_,” Natasha starts, her face pensive. “But why? An insult - meant to provoke Tony, divide the team?”

“You mean keep the team divided,” Sam comments lowly, gesturing between Steve and Tony. 

“Zemo has a magician?” Natasha offers. “I don’t know, guys. I don’t see the motive.”

“Whoever is doing this is torturing Bucky. That’s been Hydra,” Steve argues. 

“No, I don’t think that’s accurate,” Vision says. 

“Viz,” the witch starts, reaching out, “you don’t know -”

“But I think I do, in this case. I realize I have the least experience with, well, _humanity_,” Vision continues, phasing out of the witch’s hold on their arm. “But I believe I have specialized knowledge of this situation. I am not at liberty to discuss how I know this, but I must disagree with Captain Rogers. 

I think Bucky Barnes no longer exists. You may recognize his face, Captain. He may have even acted as you would expect Bucky Barnes to act, to speak as Bucky Barnes would speak. But the psyche, the mind inside - that is someone new. Someone with access to Bucky’s memories, but who is a distinguishable person.”

“How you and Ultron were different, even if built with the same base code,” Natasha says. “Without the whole, mind stone issue.”

“Precisely right. That is why -” Vision pauses, their gaze flicking to Tony before darting away, “I approached Mr. Barnes. I felt we shared some commonalities.”

“You think Bucky is dead,” Steve says, voice rough. He turns to Bucky - James - _BUCKY_. “But… really?”

_YOU ARE BUCKY BARNES_

“I am sorry, Captain,” Vision confirms softly. 

“Steve -” Sam says, reaching out. 

Steve steps away from Sam and instead crouches down in front of Bucky. His face is pinched, his eyes dark and sad. 

“You aren’t Bucky?” 

His mouth burns. 

“You were pretending, because you felt you had to,” Steve guesses. He rocks back on his heels, running a hand through his hair. “I - wow. _Shit_. But what about this spell -”

“I AM BUCKY BARNES,” Bucky shouts at the same time that the witch screams, “HE IS BUCKY BARNES!”

“Whoa,” Tony says in the quiet that followed. “That was weird. Anyone else think that was weird? That was synchronized and everything. Harmonized even, did that sound harmonized to you?”

Steve’s gaze is focused on Bucky’s mouth. 

“Say it again,” Steve orders, leaning towards Bucky. “I saw - say it again. Who you are.”

“I am,” _James _“Bucky.”

Steve leaps to his feet with a hiss. “Wanda, _what did you do?_”

“Steve, I -” the witch stutters. 

“That is your magic in Bucky’s mouth!”


	9. Chapter 9

The witch raises her head as he walks in the door. Her eyes are eager and her smile grateful until she realizes that it’s him. She scoffs. 

“What do _you _want?” she mutters as she turns away. 

She can’t go far. It’s a small cell that they’re in - a holding cell, as they waited for the witch’s trial and sentencing. 

He doesn’t tremble at her nearness. Her magic is bound by the orange shackles of energy that encircle her wrists, a lock that was created by the Sorcerer Supreme. She can’t do magic, and so she can’t mess with his mind. 

He knows who he is, or at least - he knows who he wants to be. He knows he has control of himself, and control over his own mind. It’s a heady power, and that knowledge outmatches the strength of the witch standing in front of him. 

He grins. 

“My name is James,” he tells her, voice soft but strong. 

He is not supposed to be in her cell. He is supposed to wait until the trial in front of the Accords committee to confront her. He is supposed to accept whatever punishment the committee decides is fair. Justice, by the legal system. He is supposed to honor that. 

He has signed to abide by their rules, as Vision recently reminded him, and so he must uphold his word in that regard. It does not matter that he signed the Accords by the name of Bucky Barnes when he is not Bucky Barnes. 

But some things, he knows, must be settled outside of a hearing. After all, what does the witch care for courts and committees? For weeks she had warped his mind and buried him underneath Bucky Barnes. She would have continued to do so until he had broken completely, leaving her Bucky-puppet in his wake. 

She does not fear the trial, does not fear the committee’s decision. 

So he has come to make her. 

“You don’t know who you are,” she hisses at him. 

“My name is James,” he repeats. 

“Yes, James Buchanan Barnes, I know,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Steve’s best friend, which means you’re _Bucky_. If you were in your right mind, you’d realize that!”

James keeps his smile pasted on his face as he walks towards her. He draws a knife so she can see his intention. 

She doesn’t have anywhere to run. 

She has no training, he realizes, not as she cowers from him without thought to a defensive or offensive move. With her powers locked, she has nothing. 

James almost laughs. 

Steve had been hesitant over locking the witch up, given her previous confines of a straitjacket and chains. It was Tony who had mentioned an alternative option of Dr. Stephen Strange, the magical Supreme Sorcerer who had the ability to lock her powers inside her body without her being able to access them. Steve had acquiesced to the more humane confinement. 

To James, it didn’t appear to matter. Without her powers, she had nothing. She might as well be trussed up and displayed on a silver platter for him. With the cameras down and the security guards distracted, she is at his mercy and he has none to give her.

He doesn’t kill her. 

Killing her is too much work - more committees and trials. Whether the witch is removed from this earth or not, James must be prepared to handle someone with powers like hers. The Supreme Sorcerer has said that he might be able to help James. That is good enough.

So James’ knife doesn’t kill her. James lets her fear build and build as he stands in a threat to her. 

“I am not Bucky. My name is James.” 

He cuts the skin on her arm, right above shackle. She screams. 

“I am not Bucky. My name is James.”

He cuts her other arm, also above the shackle. He wishes he could cut off her hands entirely, but he knows he will not get away with it. A few shallow cuts, even if they bleed, might be overlooked.

The fear in her eyes is worth the risk. 

“You failed, and you will not get another chance. If you mess with my mind, or anyone else’s, again, then I swear that no one will remember _your_ name.” 

There is blood on his blade. He wipes it off against her cheek. She is frozen, other than the tears that stream from her eyes. They mix with the blood and cause it to run red down her face. 

James smiles. He has saved his best news for last. 

“No one is coming to save you. Not even Steve will stand by you now.”

“But I - I did this for him. So he could have -” she whispers.

“Steve hates what you did to me,” James says, power flooding through his veins. He speaks the truth, knows he speaks the truth, and he enjoys seeing that crush the witch’s spirit. Controlling the mind of a teammate, and James especially, was not a forgivable offense. “They all hate what you did. You think Vision will stand by you when you tried to overwrite me? You think Natasha will help you when you brainwashed me? No one is coming for you, not even Steve. He hates that you did it in his name. He will not plead for mercy. He will not rescue you.”

James leans closer, his grin wicked. 

“He thinks you earned your punishment. They all do. They will leave you to rot in that Raft.”

James presses his metal hand against her throat. He keeps the pressure light enough so as not to leave bruises, but she doesn’t realize. She chokes, her gaze terrified. 

“And if,” he whispers softly, “you get out?”

He laughs. All this time he had been blaming Bucky, despising Bucky, when it had been the witch’s fault. Bucky was gone. All that was left was James, and she would never take anything from him again. 

He would make sure of it. 

“I’ll come for you,” James promises. “I’ll hunt you down and kill you, and no one - not you, not even Steve - will be able to stop me. Be grateful you’ll be locked up for the rest of your life.”

And finally, she despairs. 

* * *

“Tony.”

James likes how the name feels in his mouth, how the syllables feel on the tip of his tongue. As ‘Bucky,’ he never got to say it. Now, as James, he can say the name to the man’s face as much as he wants. 

He doesn’t have to repeat the witch’s words anymore. 

Tony looks up. He’s in the workshop, but in a desk tucked in the back. Today, instead of working on expanding the future, he is trying to clean up the past. He has been compiling notes from his interactions with James/Bucky that help detail the length and breadth of the witch’s mind control. He has been building his testimonial on how the physical scans showed nothing - this was not an artifact of James’ time with Hydra, or some sort of psychological breakdown. Tony has been emailing James updates, memos, and multiple files with helpful - and extremely short - summaries. 

“Hey there, James. What can I do for you?”

Tony has been fastidious about calling James by name. 

James does appreciate the effort. The rest of the team has also followed that line - not even Steve has mistakenly called him Bucky, not since James could finally say ‘My name is James,’ after the witch’s powers were bound. Still, James finds himself missing Tony’s nicknames. 

“I have something for you,” James replies. It still gives him a thrill, being able to verbally say what he wants to say to Tony. 

Some days, he’s still quiet - with Tony, with everyone on the team. He’s not used to speaking so much. He still relies heavily on his alternative methods - texting with Sam, snapchatting with Natasha, emailing with Tony, but he’s trying to speak more. He likes knowing that he’s not still being suffocated by Bucky Barnes. 

He continues to write every morning - 

_I am not Bucky Barnes. I am not the Asset. _

_My name is James._

“Something for me?” Tony tilts his head.

James switches the bag in his hand from his left to his right. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he licks his lips. 

He might be too early. He should wait until after the trial. He should wait until the devastation in the Avengers - one of their own has betrayed another in such a terrible, private way for _so long_ \- has died down. He should wait until Tony is less busy, should wait until -

No, James is tired of waiting. 

James knows he is capable of being patient. He remembers being a sniper, being an assassin, and picking his timing carefully. But that means he also knows that he can miss his chance. There may be no perfect moment, and he can pass by several good chances waiting for what feels like the right one - and then the right time never happens. 

Mostly, though, James is tired of waiting because James has been talking to Steve, who always waits. Steve, who waited for the perfect time to dance with Peggy. Steve, who waited to get his best friend back. Steve, who waits even now for - for answers, James suspects, though not even Steve may know. Punishment, maybe, of what happened in Steve’s name?

James has no punishment to offer. Steve’s grief at the death of Bucky Barnes - again - is obvious, but so is his struggle under the weight of the guilt that the witch twisted James into Bucky Barnes for him. 

Steve continues to try to get to know James though, so James lets him. They have weekly meetups where they try to create new memories together instead of discussing the past - but the past still comes back. Some days James can see that Steve still looks for Bucky Barnes in James’ face. 

But Steve calls him James, just like he asked. 

Tony twirls in his chair, his face lighting up. “Ooooh, gifts? Gimme gimme.” He stretches out his hands and mimics grabbing for the bag. 

James smiles. He reaches into the bag and pulls out a pint of blueberries. He hands them to Tony. He had picked them up when he and Steve had walked by a small organic grocery store on the northern end of Central Park. 

Tony cheers and immediately pops a few into his mouth. 

James reaches into the bag again and pulls out the second gift - a knife. 

Tony blinks. “Um… is that still for me?”

He nods.

“Ah, thank you. You know, I don’t actually have one of these,” Tony comments as he slides the knife out of its sheath. 

“I noticed,” he says. “It’s a hunting knife. Good carbon steel with a sharp edge. Wide variety of uses.”

“You going to tell me all of them?” Tony teases as he resheathes the knife. 

James takes a deep breath. He was taking his shot. He’d rather know where he stood, what hopes he could have, then forever wait. 

Tony had never looked for Bucky Barnes in him. Tony saw him, before he even knew who he was. The first words Tony said to him after the event with the witch were an apology, that Tony hadn’t realized what was happening sooner and stopped it. 

Tony. Tony was who James thought about, when James thought about what he wanted. He was still figuring out who he was - Vision had said it was the work of a lifetime - but he wanted Tony with him for the journey. 

“I can. Teach you to throw it too.” He fiddles with the hem of his sleeve. “There’s a range in Brooklyn, if you’re free tomorrow. Say, four? We can grab dinner after.”

Steve had choked on air when James had mentioned his plans. Tony has a much better reaction. 

First surprise, then realization flits across Tony’s face. After a moment, Tony settles on happiness. 

“You asking me on a date?”

“I am.”

Bucky would be coy, charming. James doesn’t know how, even with Bucky’s memories. That’s fine though - James isn’t Bucky, and Tony doesn’t expect him to be. 

“Never been asked to a shooting range before. That’s a new one. Sounds exciting,” Tony says, smiling. “I’ll be free - and strong arm the Committee into letting us go. All work and no play makes Tony very bored, and I’m dangerous when bored.”

James smiles, feeling lighter than air. 

“And,” James pauses, gulps, “will you - I don’t mind, when you call me nicknames.” 

Tony’s gaze is sharp for a moment, analyzing James, but then it quickly goes back to a broad grin.

“Sure thing, Snowflake. Right back at you, by the way. Permission granted.”

James shakes his head. “I like Tony.”

“Well, that’s a good thing because you just asked me out. Also, just so you know, I like you too.”

_My name is James. _

_I am not Bucky Barnes. I am not the Asset._

_I am dating Tony Stark. _


End file.
